Page 13 of When the Sky Breaks

My pulse raced in my ears.

And for the first time since I’d laid eyes on her unconscious on the wash weeks before, the two conflicting factions in my head agreed with each other—be this a romantic marriage or purely one of protection and political convenience, I wasn’t letting this Inner Court usurper kiss my wife on our wedding day.

“Off her,” I snarled. “Now.”

“Oh you must be the little country bumpkin she married,” he said.

“I said off her,” I repeated. “Now.”

“Neal, Ansel,” Sorcha drawled, “meet Alexi. Apparently, Iksura thinks we should get married. Told him he was a little late for that, but . . .”

“So should I report back to the Inner Court that you go around kissing married noblewomen with ten times your political clout?” Ansel asked drolly, slinging an arm around Alexi’s shoulders and leading him away.

“Should I report back to the Inner Court that you endorsed the marriage of our highest-ranking eligible noble to a servant boy?” Alexi countered.

“She’s not eligible, lad,” Ansel snapped in reply.

I watched as Ansel’s hand tightened on the back of Alexi’s neck, then took a deep breath to steady myself and turned back to Sorcha.

I tried to stay calm, diplomatic, detached, professional. That was the rule. That had to be the rule. Love made people irrational—look what it had done to Cormac—and good Stewards were prudent above all else.

But here with the proximity—so close I could feel the anxious heat coming off her and smell that heady blend of lavender, beeswax, mace, and woodsmoke—with those big green eyes looking up at me, blond curls coming loose from the bun at the nape of her neck, and that dress—that damn dress that I wanted so badly to see on my bedroom floor—it was all I could do to avoid kissing her and ruining everything then and there in the plaza amidst the revelry.

“Are you hurt?” I asked, letting my hand come up and stroke her cheek for just a moment, trying not to think about how right it felt. “Did he do anything?”

And something slipped. I traced the hand from her cheek around to cup the back of her head, leaned in so my forehead pressed against hers.

“Just lecture me about how Iksura thought we’d be perfect together,” Sorcha replied, and there was an uncharacteristic tremor in her voice, a blush creeping up her chest.

And against my better judgment, my rational brain screaming to step back and be professional, I stayed close. Let my hand linger on the back of her neck with the other braced on the post behind her, fencing her off from this awful, overwhelming party I’d somehow convinced her to throw.

“It won’t happen again,” I said. “Nothing like that. Ever. Again. I promise.”

“Hey, lovebirds!” Ansel’s voice crackled through the air, dissipating the tension and heat in an instant. “Come on. Hotel. Now. I’ll keep this party up until everyone’s too drunk to remember that little incident.”

I took a halting step back, and Sorcha gasped like she’d been holding her breath. The air between us felt suddenly frigid. Sorcha’s chest hitched, and she bit down on her lip like she was stifling a sob.

I reached out to take her hand but thought better of it and paused, an uncomfortable moment of anticipation passing before I decided to grab her arm, not an ounce of affection in the gesture, and start herding her across the plaza and toward the hotel Ansel had booked for us.

“So much for avoiding gossip and rumors,” Sorcha muttered as we walked down the deserted street.

“We’ll talk later,” Ansel said with a wink, leaving us at the hotel door.

“What was that about?” Sorcha asked as we walked into the deserted lobby. The clerk at the desk was asleep.

I slipped behind the desk and grabbed a key for a room up on the top floor—scribbling our details into the ledger without waking him.

“Security measures,” I said, avoiding her eyes.

If I looked at her properly she’d see right through it. I’d spent more than a hundred years training, yes, but not to lie about my feelings.

Stewards were taught to be honest and forthright.

But honest and forthright would hardly be productive right now.

I was playing too dangerous a game tonight as it was.

“Which is why he winked at you?” Sorcha asked bluntly. She wanted to challenge me. Clearly. But was she pushing me to give in and kiss her for real, take her to bed? Or was she pushing me to expose that I’d caught feelings where I had no proper right to, and annul the marriage before anyone in the church could bat an eye?